


Don't let the morning come

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), And somehow they know about it, Cunnilingus, F/M, Jon is a Stark in the sheets, Just to make things less weird, R plus L equals J, Sexsomnia, Smut, it's weird enough as it is, oh and sort of angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-01 10:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10920438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: The first time it happens, it's over so quickly, Jon hardly gets a chance to question what's happening. He hasn't slept well ever since he came back from the dead, so when the door creaks open he's awake and alert in a matter of moments. He's startled when Sansa crawls under the heavy furs, breathing "Jon" into his ear.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alittlestardustcaught](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlestardustcaught/gifts), [kingsnow (bravegentlestrong)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravegentlestrong/gifts).



> Title from the Sakis Rouvas song Όνειρα τρελά, because I was madly in love with him when I was 13 or 14. 
> 
> I haven't really been able to write much at all the last three weeks, but I think I'm getting back into it now :)

The first time it happens, it's over so quickly, Jon hardly gets a chance to question what's happening. He hasn't slept well ever since he came back from the dead, so when the door creaks open he's awake and alert in a matter of moments. He's startled when Sansa crawls under the heavy furs, breathing "Jon" into his ear.

When she braces her hands on his stomach, his arms reach out automatically to steady her. He almost flinches at the surprise of encountering her bare skin and is stunned into silence when she straddles him and bends down, pressing her soft teats and hardened nipples into his chest and whispering in his ear: "Please, I need you, Jon."

She nips at his earlobe and starts rocking her hips. If he still had any doubt about her intentions, they are long gone now. He cannot help it, a low hiss escapes his lips as his body reacts to her attentions. He runs his hands aimlessly up and down the silky expanse of her back, following her braid up to the base of her neck, which he cups in one hand. In a moment of clarity, he flips them over, hovering over her and searching her face. His voice sounds rough and unsteady to his own ears. "What are you doing, Sansa?"

Her only response is to shove down his smallclothes, freeing his cock before wrapping her fingers around it, making him buck into her hand. She arches her back off the bed to guide him to her entrance. "I want you inside me, My King," she begs him as the tip of his cock brushes her slick, hot folds and he obeys, slowly pushing forward until she releases a deep moan. He pulls out almost completely with half a mind to end this folly, but he misses the wet heat of her cunt around him before it's gone.

He glides back in, intending to repeat the motion again, but it's been so long since he's been with a woman and she's so tight around him he quickly loses himself in more shallow thrusts, urged on by her mewls and whimpers. He lowers himself to bury his face in her neck, sucking on her skin and she wraps her legs around his hips as her hands cling to his shoulders. His mouth travels lower to kiss and lick her teats and it really has been too long. His release is already nearing. "Sansa," he warns her, trying to pull out, "I'm going to-"

She digs her heels into his arse and her fingernails bite into the skin of his back. "No, Jon Stark," she commands him, "fill me up. I want all of you."

That does it for him. Sansa calling him Jon Stark pushes him over the edge and he climaxes harder than ever before. He falls asleep with her in his arms soon after and the nightmares don't come that night. When he wakes up after dawn, she's gone, but her scent and the memory of what they've done still linger in his bed.

Jon tries to avoid Sansa for most of the day. Last night has changed everything between them, but he's not ready to face it in the cold light of day. He should have refused her. He has no regrets, but he's sure she does. He doesn't know what to expect from her now and even more pressing is that there is no way for him to figure out what her expectations are after what they did.

When he finally sees her again at supper, she doesn't act any differently from how she usually does. He's relieved, most of all because it sort of gives him a clue as to how he should carry himself around her. And perhaps it's for the best if they pretend it didn't happen. 

Still, part of him is disappointed, hurt even, at seeing her so unaffected by last night. Does she wish it didn't happen? It certainly seems as if she doesn't want to repeat it. Maybe she only wanted to try it once. Perhaps she can't get over the fact that she used to think of him as her brother for most of her life.  _Or maybe,_ a small voice in the back of his head points out, _maybe she didn't like it._

He makes some hasty excuse to flee the Great Hall and heads back to the family quarters.  _Seven Hells, that must be it._ He was so overwhelmed by her direct advances, that he didn't stop to think about her pleasure. He could make it up to her. He'll go to her chambers tonight and apologize and- do what exactly?

Tell her he can do better next time, like some green boy? Earn her scorn for presuming there will be a next time?  _You fucked up, Snow._ It's too late to do anything about it now. He'll have to learn how to live with it. If Sansa can do that, so should he.

Still he lies awake at night, wondering whether he's ruined everything that was between them before. He worries about spilling inside her. He swore he'd never father a bastard, but he might have done so last night. There is no way around it, he needs to talk to her.

He's so distracted by his own thoughts he almost doesn't notice her entering his chamber. He's left the shutters open tonight, so he can see her shedding her cloak as she stands next to his bed, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the window. 

He gulps, sitting up in bed and taking in her naked form. He's had his mouth on those teats, but now he can see how glorious they are, his fingers are itching to touch them. A desperate sound escapes from his lips as she rubs her thighs together and whispers his name. 

She approaches the bed and slips under the furs, pressing her body against him. She's come back and she wants him again. Instantly he forgets what he was worrying about. He pulls her on top of him, lying back and guiding her up until she's straddling his face. 

He can see and smell how aroused she already is, but he decides to go slow. He owes her that much. He starts by pressing open-mouthed kisses to her inner thighs. He laps up her arousal and has her whimpering before he's even touched her nub. It's swollen and sticking out from her lips and when he finally latches onto it, he hums and licks and sucks, easily bringing her to a first peak.

He grabs her hips as she's riding his face and twining her hands into his curls, almost pulling them out of his scalp. His cock is aching inside the tightening confines of his smallclothes, but he decides to ignore it a little longer. Sansa doesn't speak a word, she just moans as she grinds her cunt against his mouth. She only screams his name when she comes a second time and then a third. 

She collapses into a boneless heap against the headboard of the bed, but she recovers quickly enough to scoot down his body, pushing the furs away and untying his smallclothes in the process. Moments later he's engulfed by her hot slick walls again. He can still feel the aftershocks of her last orgasm.

Mesmerized he watches her breasts bounce up and down as she rides his cock. She's gorgeous with her flushed face and her mouth hanging open, her eyes half-closed and her hands in her own hair. He reaches up to cup her teats, kneading them and teasing her nipples with his thumbs.

As she throws her head back until the ends of her fiery hair tickle his thighs, he bends his knees and starts thrusting up into her, hands on her hips to keep her steady. "Call me Jon Stark again," he growls.

"Yes," she moans, "fuck me, Jon Stark."

It does the trick just as it did the night before and he has to squeeze his eyes shut as his release crashes over him in waves of pleasure. She's still pillowed on his chest when he slips out of consciousness, but he wakes up alone again.

The next day Sansa still acts as if nothing has happened, but Jon would swear she smiles more often and she seems more relaxed than usual too. He catches himself grinning more than once during the day, knowing he's having that effect on her. When she arrives in his bedchamber that night, he's stark-naked and ready for her. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens under the cover of darkness doesn't have a place in the light of day, so Jon lives for the nights. They will never be enough, but they're all he has and he doesn't want to lose them. He suspects bringing it up might cause her to put an end to them, so he holds his tongue.

Thirty-six nights in a row, Sansa comes to Jon's chambers in the middle of the night. She doesn't speak much, except to whimper, moan or scream his name or beg him for more and she always leaves after. Even when he asks her to stay, she's gone by the time he wakes up. He wants to wake up holding her in his arms, opening his eyes to find her face.

He wishes he could hold her hand when they walk in the Godswood. He'd love to be able to kiss her when they happen upon each other during the day. Most of all he wants her to stay after they've shared a tankard of ale or a cup of wine in front of the hearth and talked about their day so they can spend the entire night together. 

All these thoughts come to him suddenly, when he wakes up to an empty bed and a cold spot beside him one time too many and he realizes he's a fool. Whatever this means to her, for him it's become more than the sum of easy comfort and lust. He needs more from her, but it's clear she's not ready to give him that. He should talk to her, but she still acts as if nothing has changed between them.

What happens under the cover of darkness doesn't have a place in the light of day, so Jon lives for the nights. They will never be enough, but they're all he has and he doesn't want to lose them. He suspects bringing it up might cause her to put an end to them, so he holds his tongue.

On the thirty-seventh night there's a knock on his door. He's still up so he opens it immediately to find Sansa standing in the hallway, biting her lip. His forehead creases in confusion. This is the first time she's bothered to knock. "Can I come in?" she asks and he nods.

She sheds her cloak, leaving it on a chair and starts pacing the room.  _She's never worn so many clothes before either,_ he muses as he watches her fidget with the dagged sleeve of her heavy blue bedrobe. His frown deepens and she breaks the silence: "Do you remember those first nights back home?"

He nods. "Aye, I do."

The first couple of weeks after they'd returned to Winterfell, they used to share a bed too, just for the comfort of having the other near and so neither of them would have to be alone with their nighttime fears. They still believed they were siblings back then so they never crossed any lines the way they do now every night. 

She stops to face him. "Could I stay here again tonight?"

He blinks.  _Of course,_ he wants to tell her.  _Stay. Stay tonight and tomorrrow and the night after. Don't ever leave again._ Instead he just offers her a curt nod. A cautious smile graces her lips. Did she expect him to refuse her?

They settle into bed and he wonders how this can feel so odd and unfamiliar after all those previous nights. It  _is_ different and he's not even sure she intends to initiate anything tonight. She didn't remove her thick nightrail, which he luckily noticed before he could proceed to take off all of his own clothes.

To his shame, his cock doesn't seem to acknowledge the difference. Sansa shuffles closer and he turns to his side to face her. "This is nice," she comments and he needs to choke back a huff. _Nice?_

Tentatively he reaches out to brush some stray hairs from her face, tracing the shell of her ear with his fingers. He brushes his thumb over her cheekbone and down to her jaw and traces her bottom lip. Her breath hitches and she averts her eyes.

 _So nothing then._ He sighs and rolls onto his back.  _Isn't this what you want, Snow?_ He wouldn't say he's disappointed, but this Sansa who's lying next to him tonight is throwing him off. It's as if she's a different person.

Suddenly she's touching him, but she only puts her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest and he curls his arm around her in response. He can feel her body relax and melt into his. She whispers: "Goodnight, Jon."

He has to admit it, this  _is_ nice, but he can't allow himself to hope. "Goodnight, Sansa."

As usual, he drifts off easily with Sansa so close to him, even without the additional benefit of coupling first.

When he wakes up hours later, it's still dark but he doesn't need to wonder too long what's disrupted his sleep. Sansa's soft, plump lips are wrapped around his rock hard cock. He starts to splutter an objection, but quickly thinks better of it. 

He's not sure what she's doing, but it feels incredible. Her mouth is hot and wet and her tongue is everywhere.

"Gods, Sansa, why didn't you wake me up first?"

He throws back the furs so he can look at her. The fire is the only source of light in the room, but he can see her blinking at him with wide and innocent eyes.

She starts moaning on his cock and he notices the slight, rhythmic movements of her arm and pelvis. "Fuck, sweet girl, are you touching yourself?"

He covers his face with a pillow to muffle his own groans. When she peaks, she starts sucking so violently he follows soon after.

He's still panting and trying to recover when he hears her opening and closing the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all probably as confused as Jon is, but the final chapter will be Sansa's POV ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's mortified about all of it when she sees him during the day. Something he looks at her with a question in his eyes, a curiosity, and she's afraid he already knows. If he does, he's courteous enough to never bring it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This picks up a couple of days after the night described in Jon's last POV

Sansa wakes up slowly, a dull headache indicating a lack of sleep a sharp contrast to the pleasant, boneless feeling in her limbs. She yawns and lowers her hand to examine her female parts. She's wet and sticky down there again and as she blinks the sleep from her eyes, last night's dream starts coming back to her.

_She's on all fours, rough, calloused hands on her hips and a bearded jaw prickling the sensitive skin on the insides of her thighs. She's bobbing her head up and down, lips wrapped around his member as his lips kiss and suck at her folds. Having him in her mouth makes her ridiculously wet, but he doesn't seem to mind, he just laps up everything she's giving him._

_His tongue disappears inside her, as if he's thirsty for even more of her and she hollows out her cheeks, taking him in deeper. His moan reverberates through her entire core and she mewls. As he pulls out and his teeth graze her nub, she tightens the passage of her lips and swirls her tongue around the head._

_When she releases a mouthful of saliva and engulfs his length again, he starts babbling in a muffled voice, his lips closed over her nub. He intersperses his words with swipes of his tongue and devouring kisses."That's it, sweet girl, fuck, such a sweet, clever mouth. Please, don't stop."_

_He enters her with two fingers, his other hand splayed on the small of her back and she grabs his thighs, digging her fingernails into the firm flesh where his legs slope into his arse. With each thrust she can hear how wet she is. When he curls his fingers inside her, she starts rocking her entire body, his fingers and manhood alternatingly gliding in and out of her._

_"Do you realize I'm fucking your mouth and your cunt at the same time?" he asks before lapsing into near silence, only humming appreciatively as his tongue circles her pearl. The combination of his words, his mouth and his fingers drives her to an earth-shattering climax and moments later, a bitter saltiness erupts in her mouth. She slurps it all up and releases him with an obscene pop, rolling off him and onto her back._

She never saw his face, but she didn't have to. It's the same man in all of her dreams. She can usually never remember them as vividly as she does the one from the night before, normally she can only recall bits and pieces of them: a flash of an image, a sound, a smell, the touch of his hand, the feel of his naked skin on hers.

It's enough to know that in her dreams she's done all kinds of things with him, things she couldn't ever have suspected her mind was capable of conjuring up. Ladies aren't supposed to desire such acts, but her nighttime fantasies and the wetness between her legs betray how wanton she truly is.

In her dreams she's had him moving above and inside her. She's ridden him while he was flat on his back, gazing up at her. Many nights he's kissed her between her legs, with her lying down, but also while she was sitting on his face. She's had his manhood in her mouth numerous times. Sometimes he drives into her from behind, claiming her like a wolf as he growled into her ear once. In her dreams she calls him Jon Stark and it pushes him over the edge every time. She likes that, it makes her feel powerful and in control.

She's mortified about all of it when she sees him during the day. Something he looks at her with a question in his eyes, a curiosity, and she's afraid he already knows. If he does, he's courteous enough to never bring it up. It's not just that she fears he'll find out how depraved she is, she knows this is more than desire, she wants all of him. He could never feel that way about her, he still thinks of her as his sister. If he found out, he might never be able to look her in the eye again. 

She's lost track of how many times he's almost caught her licking her lips as she let her gaze linger on his body or staring at his lips when her attention was needed elsewhere, but avoiding him would reveal her immediately, so she struggles every single day to keep her mask in place and give nothing away.

After tonight she could use some time away from him however, so she allows herself a couple of days before she forces herself to see him again. She finds him looking down at the smallfolk filing into the courtyard. They're whispering and trying to be subtle about looking up and pointing at the pair of them.

"What are they staring at?" Jon asks, keeping his gaze on the people below.

Sansa chuckles. "They've never seen a King before."

He turns to face her. "Do we look so different?"

"Do you know what they say about us?" she blurts out without thinking, lost in his eyes as she is. 

"No, tell me," he says with that crooked smile of his and she supposes that's what makes her bold enough to move closer.

"They say we're dead ringers for Mother and Father. Some of them even believe we _are_ them, come back to life to take revenge on all of the North's enemies and guide our people through the Long Night."

Something like anticipation flashes in his eyes and he parts his lips. It takes her a while to realize she's staring at his mouth again and there is no way he hasn't noticed now. She could avert her eyes or run, but instead she decides to lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips. 

What she couldn't have foreseen is his reaction. He grabs her waist to pull her close and curls his other hand into the hair at the nape of her neck. He moves his lips against hers and flicks his tongue over the seam of her lips. She parts them in surprise and he licks into her mouth, stroking her tongue with his. She's never been kissed like this before. It makes her head spin and she whimpers involuntarily.

With a gasp he pulls away. "I'm sorry," he pants, eyes dark and wide. He opens his mouth again to say more, but thinks better of it and storms off.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was getting way too long, so I had to split it up. That means an extra chapter for you and I think I can have it ready before midnight (CET).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She takes a deep breath and knocks. It's been almost a week since they shared a kiss and neither of them have brought it up. She can still see the wild look in his eyes. I'm sorry. Perhaps with time, everything would go back to normal. But Sansa doesn't have time, not after the Maester confirmed the impossible this morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should really stop making promises when it comes to posting updates. My laptop was throwing a fit last night and by the time I got it to cooperate again, I was too tired to finish this.
> 
> I saw that some of you were confused about Sansa's 'dreams', so let me clarify that for you. In this fic, Sansa suffers from a condition called sexsomnia: basically, it's like sleepwalking, but with sex. People perform sexual acts by themselves or with others in their sleep, and most of the time, they don't remember much, if any, of it and if they do, they usually don't realize they really did it, unless it's pointed out to them by others.  
> For narrative purposes, I made Sansa remember that one 'dream' in a more complete and detailed manner.  
> To other people it appears as if they are awake, so that's why Jon didn't notice she was asleep whenever she came to him.

Sansa lifts her hand and drops it again, staring at the door to Jon's chambers.  _Perhaps he's not back yet._ She knows he is. He came up here to take a bath about an hour ago.  _But what if he hasn't finished yet?_ She could always come back some other time.  _No, you can't._

She takes a deep breath and knocks. It's been almost a week since they shared a kiss and neither of them have brought it up. She can still see the wild look in his eyes.  _I'm sorry._ Perhaps with time, everything would go back to normal. But Sansa doesn't have time, not after the maester confirmed the impossible this morning.

Her first instinct was to try to take care of it herself until she realized she doesn't have to.  _We need to trust each other,_  he said.And she will, no matter how much she fears his judgement. She wants his help, she's so tired of being alone.

Suddenly he's standing in the doorway, curls still damp and tunic hanging open. "Sansa?"

He steps aside to let her in and she takes advantage of it to delay the need to speak. She's not sure she'll find her voice right away. She pauses in the middle of the room, not yet turning around as she waits for him to close the door. She can feel his eyes boring into the back of her head.

 _Don't look at him._ She raises her arms to hug her own frame and closes her eyes. "I'm with child, Jon."

She takes a deep breath to face him, lowering her arms, and finds him staring back at her. For a moment there is anger in his eyes and he clenches and unclenches his fists. "Are you certain?" he finally chokes out. 

She can't read his face. "I haven't bled in two moons and I've been sick every morning for the last fortnight. Maester Dalbert examined me this afternoon."

"There is no other explanation?"

She bites her lip. "There is, but it's unlikely..."

He tilts his head, so she explains what the maester told her. "Sometimes, when a woman desperately wants a child, her body might feign signs of pregnancy."

"But you don't want a child," he counters, walking over to his desk to brace his hands on his chair. His position emphasizes all the muscles in his arms and shoulders, which she can see through the thin fabric of his tunic. "That's why you agreed to take moon tea."

 _What?_ "I did no such thing!"

He twists his upper body in her direction, still leaning on his chair. "Aye, you did. The third night, if I remember correctly."

 _The third night of what?_ He's not making any sense, so she decides to ignore him. "Jon, I-" she throws her hands up in despair. "I can't be pregnant."

"It's certainly inconvenient," he says, leaving his chair and rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. 

"You don't understand," she snaps, turning with him, "I see how you'd find it  _inconvenient,_ but that's not what I meant. I can't be pregnant! It's just not possible!"

 _Unless this is a dream as well._  His face is a mask of confusion. "Why not?"

"Because-" she starts as she feels a blush creeping up her cheeks. "You know how it works, Jon! I haven't- You know!"

He glares at her. "No, I don't!"

 _Gods, are you really going to make me say it?_ "I haven't been with a man after Ramsay, Jon!"

His mouth falls open and his eyes grow wide, but it only last a few moments and suddenly he's in her face, shouting at her.

"Damn you, Sansa! I left everything up to you! I never once came to you! I never asked for more! I disregarded everything I wanted, my own needs and desires, all because you preferred to pretend nothing was going on!"

He stops, an incredulous look in his eyes as he takes a deep breath. He gestures vaguely at her belly. "But how can you still deny it, when we're facing consequences we can't ignore?"

She winces at his closeness and the volume of his voice, but she refuses to back down, so instead she takes a step forward and screams back: "Deny what?"

He's not yielding either and he's so close now she can smell him. Despite the tension, his scent of pine and snow is comforting and familiar, but his voice is icy: "You're hilarious, Sansa."

All of a sudden his posture relaxes and this time she does retreat, stumbling into the desk. He takes her hand and presses his cheek into her palm. "Didn't it mean anything to you?"

 _Oh._ _Is he talking about their kiss?_ Her heart starts racing and her knees go a little weak, but she can't think about that right now. "Perhaps now is not the time, Jon. I don't know what to do... I suppose it's not too late for moon tea."

"No! And now  _is_ the time," he objects, eyes narrowed, and lifts her hand from his face to hold it in both of his. "You don't know what to do, but you'll have to make up your mind. I'll tell you what _I_ want. Maybe it'll help... Marry me, Sansa."

All she can do is gape at him as he studies her face. He moves even closer until she's sitting on the desk and cups her cheek in his hand, inclining his head until his forehead is resting against hers. Heat is radiating from his body and her throat clenches up.

"Didn't it mean anything to you?" he asks again and she shivers as his breath washes over her face. "Didn't it mean anything when you came to me every night to have me inside you and scream my name? Why do you keep coming back? What's going through your mind when you call me Jon Stark?"

Her breath hitches and her fingers clutch his as she slides off the desk. "How did you know that?"

When he pulls back, there's a scowl on his face. "I was there, Sansa," he informs her. 

Her mind drifts to that one night when she woke up in Jon's bed, their naked bodies tangled together. After she'd extricated herself from his embrace as gently as possible, she grabbed his cloak from a chair and took off. She can still remember the feeling of his seed trickling down her thighs. The next morning she was lying in her own bed, clad in her nightrail and no sign of Jon's cloak in her room and she wrote the memory off as another dream.

But now all the pieces fall into place. "So all of it was real?" she yelps. "I wasn't dreaming?"

The creases in his forehead cannot possibly become any deeper. "You thought you were dreaming? You expect me to believe that?"

"Please, Jon, I need some space, I-" she begins as she tries to push him away.

"Sansa..."

She lashes out at him. "Seven hells, Jon, I just found out we've been fucking for weeks and I can't remember even half of it!"

He stares at her, snorts and within moments he's howling with laughter. 

"What?" she demands.

"It must be true," he sniggers, "you were shocked enough to say 'seven hells' and 'fucking' and all in one breath!"

"It's not funny!" she retorts seething as she puts her hands on her hips.

There's an odd look in his eyes. His pupils are blown wide and he licks his lips. She's still hot with rage, but somehow the fire in her belly and limbs turns liquid. "You look glorious when you're angry," he declares in a rough voice before taking her hands to lace their fingers together as he presses himself flush against her.

He braces their hands on the desk behind her, covering hers with his own and he trails his nose up the line of her jaw until his lips are on the shell of her ear. His breath tickles when he groans: "Your eyes could set the entire keep on fire. Your face is flushed and your bosom's heaving, just like when you're in my bed."

Her heart is hammering in her chest and she has a sudden urge to rub her thighs together. He's hot and solid against her and she can feel his hardness pressed to her hip. When he looks her in the eyes, his are almost black as he whispers: "I'll make sure you won't forget this."

He lunges forward to devour her lips, grabbing her waist as she fists her hands into his tunic. His hands slide lower as she kisses him back hungrily and he pushes a knee between her legs, making her moan into his mouth. He lifts her arms to drape them around his neck and starts unlacing the bodice of her dress.

She could kiss him forever, but clearly he has other plans. When her breasts spill free, he abandons her mouth to squeeze them in his hands and suck on her nipples. She grasps his curls to keep him there. Wetness is gathering between her legs and the most wanton sounds are escaping from her mouth, but she doesn't care.

He untangles himself to grab her and turn her around, bending her over the desk. The wood is cool and smooth against her bare skin. He gathers her skirts and lifts them over her hips.

A hand disappears between her legs, easing them apart and he strokes her through her smallclothes and her fingernails claw at the surface of the desk. When he finally pulls her drawers down, she's on the verge of weeping and she bucks her hips back at the loss of his touch.

Suddenly his hot breath washes over her slick peach and then she can feel his mouth on her. His tongue attacks her nub, circling and stroking it, as his fingers dig into the soft flesh of her hips. She's already so close from his earlier attentions that it doesn't take long before a white light explodes behind her eyelids and she's overwhelmed by waves of pleasure.

She's still coming down when he pulls her hips back, using one hand to coat the tip of his manhood in her juices, teasing her folds. She whimpers impatiently and he enters her with a long groan, making her gasp as he slowly fills her up.

He moves in and out of her at an agonizingly leisurely pace, sliding his hands under her body to cup her teats, pinching her nipples. He lowers himself until his chest is covering her back and she sighs at the comforting weight of his body on hers.

"Sansa," he croons, "we're going to have a babe. We did that, together."

The thought seems to urge him on, as he rises again to grab her by the hips and starts pounding into her, harder and faster than before. And Sansa sobs as she arches her back, her tears not only full of imminent pleasure, but also joy and relief.

She can hear their flesh slapping together and the sound of her wetness fills the room. He feels so good, caressing an almost painfully sweet spot inside her with every stroke. When he snakes a hand around her right hip to push two fingers to her pearl, she peaks again and he growls: "Marry me, Sansa."

"Yes, Jon Stark!" she cries out, her voice shrill, and he falters against her. After two fierce thrusts he releases his seed deep inside her, howling like a wolf. As they collapse onto the desk in a sweaty mess, he murmurs: "I love you."

"I love you, too," she whispers and she closes her eyes in contentment. 


End file.
